


Many Dark Places

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: Many Dark Places [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Thor being a darling, Trauma, hurt!reader, references/flashbacks to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: "The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." ~ J. R. R.  Tolkein, "The Fellowship of the Ring"When cleaning up a camp of dark magicians near New Asgard, Thor stumbles upon Y/N - the daughter of an Asgardian nobleman, who disappeared before Thor first traveled to Midgard in 2011.
Relationships: Thor (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Many Dark Places [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130285
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic pre-Endgame and, as such, it exists in a strange world where they didn't make New Asgard on Earth and also maybe Thanos didn't win? Idk. (Loki's still dead, though. Sorry.)
> 
> Special thanks to samsgoddess and the-soulofdevil for betaing this for me!
> 
> Translation source: http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm
> 
> Translations can be found in the endnotes of each applicable chapter.
> 
> Cover art edited by me.
> 
> This fic will begin posting on March 6th and post every Friday


	2. Chapter One

The raid comes late in the evening.

You can hear the shouts of warriors and the clash of weapons. A deep voice is calling out instructions but you can’t make out any specific words. Just his voice. You can't do anything, really, except kneel in the center of your wagon-cage and try to lift up enough to not irritate the rope burns on your wrists more than you already have. The sounds eventually die down and you can hear distant, muffled conversations accompanied by the tramping of feet around the camp.

_The raiders won_, you decide sleepily, wondering who they are. Perhaps they're bandits. If so, they'll either keep you as a slave, sell you for cheap, or just kill you. You can’t bring yourself to stifle such a treacherous yearning but nonetheless, part of your heart hopes for the latter.

The lock on the wagon door rattles, startling you from your thoughts and sending your heart racing in a panic. Whoever it is gives up trying to unlock it and you hear the _smash _of metal against weaker metal. The sound draws an involuntary shudder up your spine and you instinctively try to squirm away.

The door opens, light from torches and the dying fires of your captors spilling into the small space. Silhouetted against the warm light is a huge figure.

“May I take your torch?” he says to a smaller figure that passes, his voice the same timber as the one giving orders earlier. He must be the leader, then. Good. Better to get this over with as soon as possible.

The torch is handed over and the man is lit up, as well as the interior of your wagon. Your stomach knots and you twist your body away before you can stop yourself, a base instinct telling you to cover your nudity despite how normal it's become.

He is handsome, that much you know even after all this time. His strong jaw is bearded and his hair is short, shorn close on the sides and a little longer on the top. He wears armor that seems somewhat familiar to you- in all honesty, all of him seems familiar but your tired and frightened mind can't place him. A long red cape hangs from his broad shoulders and he wields an enormous ax in his other hand.

His eyes go wide when he sees you fully, and he rushes forward to cut your wrists free with a small knife he pulls from his belt. You yank yourself beyond his grasp with a frightened noise, scrambling away until your bare back hits the wall. He steps forward but stops when you try to make yourself seem even smaller. Instead, he crouches- even then he is huge and when he reaches out a hand, you shrink away with a whimper you can't hold back.

The sound seems to startle him and he freezes a second before turning his palm towards you in a placating gesture. Slowly, he sinks back until he sits cross-legged like a child.

“Hello,” he says, his tone soft. In the torchlight, his eyes are warm and endearing. “What's your name?”

What _is_ your name? You stare for a long moment, trying to dredge up memories locked away long ago. They're slow to come but eventually, you find what you're looking for.

“Y/N,” you croak, the word strange on your tongue. Your voice is hoarse from not doing much besides screaming, and it surprises you to find that speaking now hurts. The dark magicians must have liked your screaming, for they never decided to remove your voice as they did to many others who came and went over the years.

“Y/N,” he rumbles, and a tiny part of you likes the way your name rolls off his lips. “Y/N, daughter of Lord Týr, betrothed of Bjǫrn?”

The names are familiar and conjure images of loving smiles and embraces and _home_, the memories sparking warmth in your chest. You nod.

He smiles at you, sweet and a little boyish. “Do you know who I am?”

You wish you did. His identity is on the tip of your tongue but your mind is sick of digging through the past and refuses to relinquish its hold on the memory. You shake your head.

He doesn't seem hurt. “I suppose it's been many years and I did look a bit different. I am Thor Odinson, King of Asgard.”

_Thor_. How could you have ever forgotten? He's older- obviously- and there's something in his face beyond age that has changed him- you're not sure what yet. But he is unmistakable.

You curl your arms around your body even tighter, suddenly very aware of your nudity. “My King,” you mouth, digging your fingernails into your biceps hard enough that you're going to find little red marks later.

His smile is kind and welcoming and his hand is still outstretched. “May I come closer?”

You hesitate a moment before giving a small nod. Thor lifts up and scoots a few feet closer as a smaller, more female figure appears in the doorway.

“My King,” she says, silver-grey armor gleaming in the firelight.

Thor throws up a hand to stop her, though. “Not yet, Brunnhilde.”

She huffs, cocking a hip, and you can feel the tense fear creeping through your body again.

“Y/N,” Thor says softly. “Look at me. Don't look at her.”

You turn your eyes back to his face and the tension slips away a little.

“You're shivering,” he observes. “Are you cold?”

Are you? Probably. You weren't paying attention, to be honest.

“Here.” Before you can respond, Thor is unhooking his cape and swinging it around to offer it to you. “You can use this until we can get you something decent.”

You eye the rich fabric a moment before reaching a tentative hand out. Part of you is still afraid it's going to be pulled back, even though you know in your heart that Thor would never be that cruel. As soon as you get a hand on the cape, you dig in and yank it close.

“There you go,” he murmurs, smiling as you cover yourself the best you can in your position. “Better?”

You nod and can feel yourself relax even further.

“Sire, we need to move,” Brunnhilde says, a little impatient.

Thor nods. “We do. Y/N, can you walk?”

You don't want to but it's probably unavoidable, at least for a little while. “Yes,” you whisper, gathering the cape close and beginning to rise. Your feet are covered in tiny cuts, despite the calluses from going barefoot for so long, and you remember too late the damage that was done to your ankle during a particularly brutal punishment yesterday. Said ankle gives out as soon as you put weight on it and you find yourself crumpling with a cry.

Thor is suddenly there, powerful arms encircling your body and supporting you. “No, don't hurt yourself. I'll carry you, if that's alright?”

You nod, fighting the roll of your stomach at his touch. He murmurs soft words, though, as he helps you adjust the cape so it's wrapped around your shoulders and the turmoil in your belly calms.

When you're sufficiently covered, he helps you limp to sit on the edge of the wagon before hopping down himself. Brunnhilde is holding the torch now and Thor is free to loop his arms behind your shoulders and knees and lift you against his chest. You squeak, a little caught off guard even though you knew it would happen, and some bruises protest but you don't voice that. This is considerably better than walking.

“Rest a little,” he encourages as he begins his journey to wherever- you don't particularly care. “We found the dark magicians because they wandered so close to our camp. It's not far. Once there, we'll get you cleaned up, your wounds dressed, some proper clothes, and a place to sleep.”

He continues to speak, both to you and to the warriors who cluster around. His voice rumbles through his chest and into your body, deep and soothing, and you find your eyelids drifting shut.


	3. Chapter Two

You don't know how far it is to the camp, seeing as you sleep until Thor sets you on a bed in a large, cozy tent that is clearly his. An older woman, dressed in a simple brown traveling dress and carrying a leather bag, hovers a few feet away.

“Y/N,” Thor says, petting your head soothingly. “This is Svanhild. She's a seidr-woman and here to help you, if that's alright?”

You eye her warily. Something about her face reminds you of home, of someone who sang quiet songs when you were scared and kissed your every bump and bruise. Swallowing back the emotions that well up unbidden, you nod.

She smiles kindly and sets her bag on the bed, sitting on the edge. “I'll start with your feet and we'll go from there. I promise I'll tell you before I do anything. How does that sound?”

Your words won't work but she understands your nod.

“Alright. Lift your foot up here, please.”

Thor sits behind you as you rotate to put your feet by her, his strong warmth supporting your back. Svanhild works quickly, explaining as she goes. Salves are applied to the cuts. They sting a little but that quickly fades and then she wipes the salve away to reveal new skin where the small cuts once were.

“Now, let's look at this ankle.” She lifts your foot onto her lap and gently feels the swollen joint. “Broken. I would like to use a small amount of magic to see how bad the break is.”

You clutch Thor's cloak tighter around your body, feeling his huge hand cover your own. The contact helps to steady you and you nod. If Thor trusts her, then you will try.

A wave of her hand, a few murmured words, and a soft blue light wraps around your ankle. Svanhild examines something you can't see and frowns.

“This is bad,” she sighs. “But not hopeless. I will set and bind it now. This will hurt a bit but should feel better once I've finished.”

It does hurt a bit and then it does feel better. As she finishes binding your foot and ankle, you breathe a sigh of relief. Next, she treats and wraps the rope burns on your wrists.

“Is there anything else I should look at?” she inquires.

“I think we should see what affects the dark magicians have had on you,” Thor says softly. “Would that be okay?”

You agree and Svanhild performs a spell similar to the one before, this time resulting in a deep purple light. When the light fades away, she looks puzzled.

“I cannot see any ill effects,” she tells you. “Unexpected but a good thing. You need a bath, food, and a good night's sleep. The bandages have a spell to keep them from getting wet, so you should be fine. Feel free to take a long, hot bath.”

That sounds heavenly. You give her the biggest smile you can muster and she returns it.

“I will check on you in the morning before we return home. Goodnight my lady, my King.”

Thor dismisses her and then carries you to a curtained off “room” of the tent- which you now realize is more like a small two-room building with canvas walls than a tent- that houses a large tub a servant is finishing filling with steaming water. She bows hastily and backs out of the room.

“Would you like any assistance?” Thor inquires, setting you on a stool by the tub and crouching to put his face at your level.

You shrug. You would rather bathe yourself but you know there are places you can’t reach. Thor seems to understand.

“Alright. I will help where you feel comfortable with me. Here, let's get you into the water.”

Between the cover and the warmth it's provided, you’re reluctant to give up the cloak. Thor sees it on your face and smiles to himself as he keeps it in his hands, using it as a barrier between his skin and yours. When you glance up at him, his eyes are politely averted. He doesn't look at you until you're settled in the water. The suds do a decent job covering you, assisted by the fact that the tub is nearly flowing over the edge.

The heat from the water begins seeping into your limbs, warming a chill you’d almost forgotten about, it's been in your bones so long. You settle against the side of the tub with a contented sigh as it fades.

Thor pulls a chair over and sits a few feet away. “How are you feeling?”

You look over at him, taking in his posture: leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. You’ve gotten good at reading people- best way to avoid accidentally upsetting someone- and reading Thor is easier than most. All his thoughts, his emotions, are right there on his face and in his eyes. He’s concerned, genuinely so, and interested in what you have to say.

You shrug. _How are you feeling?_ Your body still aches, though the major sources of pain have been dulled by the healer’s work. You’re cold at your core but warming slowly. Honestly? You’re feeling better than you have in months. Years. You open your mouth to say something, though, and the words won’t come. It’s like an invisible force is stopping the words from ever reaching your throat. Panic wells up in your chest.

Thor must read it on your face. He reaches out, hand hovering just above the edge of the tub. “It’s okay if you can’t speak,” he says. “I know all of this must be overwhelming.”

You can't help a soft snort at that. _Overwhelming is an understatement_.

Thor chuckles. “I understand. Would you like to rest a little in the bath? I can have food brought here.” Your eyes must brighten at those words because Thor nods and rises. He moves to the door and speaks in hushed tones to someone in the larger room of the tent before returning to his seat.

“Food is on its way,” he informs you, resettling into his former position. “Would you like to be left alone?”

Fear seizes your chest and one hand flies out without any thought to grip the closest part of him - his hands.

“Hey,” Thor says softly, strong fingers turning to give your much smaller ones a gentle squeeze. “It's all right, Y/N. I won't leave you alone.”

A soft tap outside signals the arrival of food. Thor gives your hand another squeeze before dropping it to fetch the tray. It's designed to hook over each side of the tub, creating a shelf above the water. The food is simple - a slice of bread, a bowl of basic soup, some vegetables. Your mouth immediately begins watering at the sight but you find yourself too nervous to eat.

“Go on,” Thor urges. “You need to regain your strength.”

The soup is verging on too hot but you can't find it in yourself to care, not when it tastes so good and you're so hungry. You don't even bother with the spoon, just pick the bowl up and take big sips. It's mostly broth, with chunks of potato and some kind of meat, most likely poultry.

“Slow down a little,” Thor says with a quiet laugh, shedding his armor as he speaks. It clinks as he drops it to the floor, leaving him in a simple blue tunic and black breeches. “It would defeat the purpose if you became sick.”

Your cheeks warm at that and you force yourself to put the bowl down. You trade it for the bread, taking little nibbles to savor it because it's probably the best bread you've ever had.

The room is quiet but not in an uncomfortable way. Thor is easy to be around. When you finally decide you can't eat anymore, he doesn't comment on how much you left untouched. Only moves the tray to the other end of the tub - within reach but out of the way.

“Ready to clean up?” Thor asks, fetching a small basket from the floor by the tub.

You nod, taking a bar of soap and a cloth from the basket. The soap smells spicy and musky and you're more than happy to rub it on the cloth. You take your time scrubbing everything you can reach, savoring the feeling of bathing probably for the first time in Odin only knows how long. There comes a point, though, when you can't wash anything else simply because you can't reach.

Thor has focused on his hands, giving you a little extra privacy as you bathe. He looks up when you hold the cloth out to him.

“Would you like some assistance with your back?” he asks, carefully taking the cloth.

You nod, curling your arms around your chest and sitting forward. Thor moves the stool closer to the tub.

“I'm going to touch you now,” he warns before he begins gently scrubbing across your shoulders and upper back.

The scratch of the cloth in places previously untouched feels wonderful and you can't help a soft sigh, letting your head tip forward. Thor is thorough but careful not to overstep. When he's done, he drapes the cloth over the edge of the tub.

“Would you like me to wash your hair?”

Washing your hair is a short process - the dark magicians cut it shorter than a boy's early on and have kept it that length ever since - but Thor's huge fingers massaging your scalp help to draw more tension from your body and when you're finally all clean, you feel better than you have in years.

“You're all shriveled up,” Thor teases, tapping your fingers where one hand is draped over the side of the tub. “Perhaps it's time to get out? I had some clothes brought for you to sleep in.”

You're reluctant to leave the safety of the water but the water is getting cold and the towel Thor offers is fluffy, oversized, and oh so inviting. You climb out of the tub and Thor immediately wraps the towel around you, using it as a guard between his hands and your skin like he did with the cape earlier. He guides you to sit on the stool so you can dry off while he fetches the clothes - undergarments and a simple blue sleeping gown. The fabric feels strange against your skin, a soft weight you haven't felt in a long time.

“I think it's time for bed,” Thor murmurs. “Can you walk?”

You test your ankle against the floor. It doesn't hurt as bad anymore and you could probably walk on it if you’re careful but sleep is making your brain fuzzy and you know you're gonna fall over if you stand. You shake your head a little sheepishly.

“That's all right. I can carry you.”

And he does just that, strong arms looping around your shoulders and under your knees. He hoists you into the air with ease, settling you against his chest. You fight the urge to burrow into that warmth and fall asleep right here again - something about him is comforting in a way you haven't felt in years.

The trip to the bed is a short one. Before you know it, he's laying you on the mattress and pulling thick, heavy blankets up to your chin. The blankets settle over you, a weight that seems to soak up every ounce of tension from you body and dissipate it elsewhere. You find yourself sinking into the mattress, suddenly too tired to keep your eyes open.

The last thing you're aware of is Thor's hand resting gently atop your head, thumb rubbing soothing circles along your hairline.


	4. Chapter Three

You wake abruptly in the middle of the night, alone.

The tent is dark except for the glow of the torches of the guards outside, only slightly visible through the fabric walls. You can hear the muted sounds of a sleeping camp - horses in the distance, the snores of someone in a nearby tent, the quiet conversation of the guards.

The rustle of shoes on the rug that covers the floor.

You open your mouth - whether to ask who's there or to scream for help, you're not sure - but a hand over your mouth stops any sound you would have made. A second hand grips one of your wrists and yanks you from the bed.

The man begins dragging you toward the back wall of the tent and the fabric flaps gently where he's slit a hole large enough to fit through.

Something about that sight kills the fear that's been keeping you silent and turns it into the fear that forces a scream from your throat, despite the hand that still covers your mouth. Your blood is rushing in your ears, your mind racing through all the horrible possibilities.

The man curses under his breath as the tent flaps fly open, revealing armed guards. Their torches reveal your assailant, a man dressed in the robes of a dark magician.

Before either of the guards can do anything, you feel the sharp press of a knife at your throat. A whimper escapes you as he hisses threats and you can see how torn the guards are. They have a job to do but they’ve been placed in an impossible situation.

They don’t have to worry for long, though. The angry rumble of Thor’s voice makes your captor whirl to see Thor as he steps through the slit in the tent wall. He’s dressed in only black trousers and boots, muscles flexing as he hefts his ax.

“She’s mine,” the stranger snarls, knife digging into your skin. You’re doing your best to be as still as possible, instinct telling you to do whatever he says. “You will let us pass.”

“She belongs to no one,” Thor replies, voice eerily calm. He steps closed but stops when the man shifts his grip on the knife. “Let her go and I will allow you to leave.”

Your captor sneers. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Suddenly the knife drops from your throat, hitting the carpet without a sound. You stumble forward and Thor is there, strong arms gathering you to his chest. The sounds of a scuffle between the guards and the stranger can be heard but Thor curls one huge hand around the back of your head to prevent you from turning to look. You’re more than happy to burrow into his embrace, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. His skin is surprisingly soft, even where it’s marred by scars.

The sounds stop. You’re vaguely aware of Thor speaking to the guards and then the sound of them leaving. The tent doesn’t go dark, though, and when you turn your head a little you see one of the guards left their torch in a holder by the door.

“He’s gone,” Thor murmurs, ducking his head down to speak in your ear. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

He gently leads you back to the bed and tucks you in. Around his body, you catch a glimpse of someone outside the tent sewing up the slit with quick, skilled stitches. Thor smooths your blankets down and then strokes your hair.

“Will you be able to sleep again?” he asks.

You wriggle one of your hands out from under the blankets to catch his. You press your cheek against his palm.

“Stay?” you whisper.

Thor’s expression is soft, fond. “Of course. Where would you like me to sleep?”

The bed is plenty big enough for two people, so you shift over to the far side and tug him down beside you. He settles on top of the blankets, lying on his side facing you.

“Sleep,” he urges. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

You arrive home in the evening.

The new Asgard is smaller than the old one. Less grand. Part of you misses your home, as you ride across the plain stone bridge on the back of Thor’s horse but part of you kind of likes the everydayness of the new city. Nothing’s covered in a layer of gold - you always thought it was a bit unnecessary and over the top.

“It’s not much,” Thor says quietly, his voice rumbling through his back and into your chest where you’re pressed against him. “But it’s home. The city expands and improves every day. They’ve insisted on building me a palace, though. I attempted to dissuade them but the people were determined.”

You nod, adjusting your grip around his waist and resettling in the saddle - you’re not accustomed to riding for long periods of time, let alone most of the day, though the breeches and tunic you borrowed from Brunnhilde are certainly more comfortable for riding than a skirt. Above the houses, you can see the beginnings of the palace. It will be grand, you can already tell. Not as grand as the old one but a home worthy of the king of this Asgard.

“I will take you to your father’s house,” Thor continues as the group approaches city gates. “Word has likely already spread that you have been found but I have requested you be given privacy while you settle in.”

Your father’s new house is on the northern end of the city. Thor points it out as soon as it comes into view and your stomach twists, torn between anxiety and excitement. The house is much smaller than your old one but you don’t care. It looks warm and cozy, yes but the majority of your focus is on the tall figure waiting on the top front step.

Lord Týr is dressed in a simple blue tunic and breeches, head held high in the same stately attitude he works so hard to maintain. His eyes give him away, though, as he moves down the steps at the same time Thor brings his horse to a halt.

You find yourself reaching for him, tears blurring your vision. Strong hands lift you down, pull you close, and all the tension melts from your body as your father’s arms surround you. He’s trembling but so are you so it doesn’t matter.

“Oh, _elska_,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you tight. “My sweet girl. I’ve missed you so much.”

You curl your fingers into the fabric of his tunic, clinging to him until you feel steady enough to take a step back.

“_Faðir_,” you manage, glancing around and realizing for the first time that he’s alone. “Where’s Bjǫrn?”

His face falls at your question and worry stabs through your heart. You somehow know already what he’s going to say but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when he says it.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he says. “Bjǫrn is in Valhalla.”

A painful sob tears itself from your throat, turning into a wail that you muffle against your father’s chest, a mourning cry for love lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> \- affection, love (f) - elska
> 
> \- father (m) - faðir


	5. Chapter Four

At some point, your father takes you to a bedroom and tucks you in. The bed is huge and soft, and you sink into it. Tears are still falling but you’re so exhausted in every way that it’s not long before you’re asleep.

You’re woken much later by morning sunlight flooding the room. You squint sleepily against the light, eyes struggling to adjust, and then fear shoots down your spine at the sight of a figure silhouetted against the windows.

_Not again._

The first time, you froze. The second time, you froze. Not this time.

Instinct takes over. You throw yourself from your bed, rolling out from under the covers, and manage to get around the intruder before they can react. New Asgard is built the same as Old Asgard - the windows are more like open archways with curtains - and escape is easy. Your room is on the second story above a porch, so you end up rolling off the roof. A bush breaks your fall and, after a minute of struggling, you're soon vaulting the short wall that surrounds the gardens and racing-

_\- through the forest._

_The trees are thick and seem to come out of nowhere as you weave through them, springing out of the darkness to grab at you with their branches. You manage to avoid the roots, keeping your feet under yourself as you hurtle through the darkness. Your heart is pounding in your throat, your stomach all twisted up with terror._

_Your good luck doesn’t last long. A root appears, catching your foot and bringing you crashing down with a cry of pain. You’d completely forgotten about your bad ankle, adrenaline killing the pain of running on it but now you’ve been cruelly reminded and probably done even more damage to it._

_You can hear the approach of your captors, crashing through the trees, and fresh panic sets in. You reach for something to use to pull yourself up -_

“Y/N!”

Strong arms yank you up as reality crashes in and your pulled out of the path of a horse drawn cart, the driver shouting angry words you can’t understand.

“Watch where you’re going,” your savior shouts back before he turns those lovely blue eyes on you. One large hand comes up to brush tears from your cheeks - you hadn’t realized you were crying. “Are you all right?”

Your voice is caught in your throat, keeping in any response you might have had. Thor immediately understands, though, and rephrases his question as he guides you further from the street. You see a few guards around his shoulder, their hands on their weapons and their eyes scanning the people who slow down to try and catch a glimpse of what’s going on. The sight of the guards being so vigilant helps you relax a little.

“Are you hurt?” Thor is asking, drawing your attention back to him.

You nod. _Yes._

“Your ankle?”

_Yes_

Thor shifts his arms around you so you can lean on him. “Are you in danger? Is that why you were running?”

_Yes_. You hide your face in his chest. One of his arms tightens around you as the other hand falls down to rest on his ax.

“Can you tell me who’s after you?” he asks. “Did you see their face?”

_No_, you tell him with a shake of your head.

“All right.” He turns a little to order two of his guards to go to your house before returning his attention to you. “I want you to come home with me until we are sure you’re safe.”

_Ok_.

“Can you walk?”

You test your ankle and a whimper escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t have to say anything - Thor knows. He sweeps on arm under your knees and scoops you up, cradling you against his chest. You loop your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the soft fabric of his shirt and taking a deep breath of his already familiar scent - wood and strong in a way that helps you feel safe but with a softness that makes your heart flutter.

Thor is talking to his remaining guards as he begins walking, giving them instructions on what to look out for or something. You’re not really paying attention, too busy taking slow breaths to try and stay calm. The low rumble of Thor’s voice in his chest helps. By the time he walks up the steps to a small house just within the gated courtyard of the future palace, you’re feeling much better.

Thor sets you on a comfy sofa in the front room and sends a servant off to fetch Svanhild. Once they’re gone, he crouches in front of you and lifts your injured foot in one hand. His fingers curl gently around your heel, making your foot look tiny in his hand as he begins undoing the bandages left from your last meeting with Svanhild the morning before. Your ankle is swollen and tender under his careful touch. You flinch and he mumbles an apology, guiding you to sit sideways on the couch so you can elevate your foot on the arm of the sofa. The position makes it so you have to lay back and Thor quickly shifts to sit behind you, supporting you with his body.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, nuzzling into his shirt.

He smiles down at you, one palm skimming lightly over your short hair.

Svanhild arrives a few minutes later, all warm smiles and soft words. She talks you through the examination, a simple spell to bring down inflammation, and rewrapping your ankle.

“You need to stay off of this,” she says gently. "Some crutches will help. I know an excellent woodworker who can make some for you."

She leaves soon after but you stay, face pressed into Thor's shirt as he pets your head and murmurs soothing words. You find yourself drifting a little, lulled by the deep rumble of his voice. When the door opens, you both startle.

"Y/N," your father says, rushing to your side. "Are you all right? You give Eydís quite the scare, poor woman. She thought she'd hurt you."

It takes a moment for the words to process and you furrow your brow. _Eydís_. Why does that name sound so familiar?

It hits you all at once - a short, soft woman with a motherly smile and tender hands. Memories flood your mind. In some she has long auburn hair but in others - newer ones - her hair is almost white.

"Eydís," you whisper, voice rough as you reluctantly turn your face away from Thor's chest. You can't seem to look Týr in the eye, though. "I didn't mean to scare her."

"I know," your father assures you. "What happened?"

"I don't… she was…" you frown, trying to make sense of your thoughts. "I thought she was… here to take me away again."

His expression softens and he reaches out to cover one of your hands with his own where your arms are folded on your belly. "Oh, daughter. I'm sorry you were frightened. I sent her to wake you for breakfast. Now we know not to wake you in that way."

You give a small nod, still unable to look at him.

"Let's return home," Týr continues. "We've already used enough of the king's time."

"No, please," Thor protests. "I don't mind. I was coming to check on Y/N when I encountered her in the market. I don't mind having her here if she wants to stay." He pats your head a little, drawing your gaze up to his. "But if you do stay, will you see a seidr-woman?"

You frown, puzzled. "Svanhild?"

"No, a different one. One who specializes in helping to heal the mind after trauma."

Your father is nodding. "Yes, yes, that's an excellent idea, my Lord. Do you have someone in mind?"

"Verdandi," Thor says without hesitation. "She works with our warriors. I have even seen her myself. She's one of the best."

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."


	6. Chapter Five

Verdandi is a tall, lithe woman who sweeps into Thor's small study with an air of confidence so intimidating that you can't speak for the first half-hour you spend in her presence - thankfully, she understands and directs her initial questions on the situation at Thor. Once she's satisfied with the information he's given, she quickly ushers both your father and Thor out of the room, assuring them that you're in good hands before shutting the door in their faces.

"Now," she says, practically gliding around the study as she opens the heavy curtains and begins to prepare tea from the tray a servant brought earlier. "Would you like tea?"

You shrug, eyeing her warily.

"I'll make you a cup. You don't have to drink it but it's there if you want to." She asks a series of yes or no questions until she's made the tea the way you like it. You take a tentative sip when she hands you the mug and she seems pleased by the soft sound of pleasure you make.

"Glad I haven't lost my touch." She stirs honey into her own mug and then sits in a chair across from where you’re reclined on the couch, injured ankle propped up on a small pile of pillows Thor arranged for you. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," you murmur, glad she's not jumping right into things. It eases the tightness in your throat.

"Let me know if that changes. And, of course, if you need to stop at any time or you want someone to be here with you, that's okay. I would rather you push through it and learn to handle these things on your own but I'm willing to make an exception today considering how fresh the trauma is."

A wave of gratitude washes over you at those words. You understand exactly what she's saying - you can't always run to Thor when you're scared.

Verdandi eases you through the conversation, listening patiently when you can speak and asking a different question when you can’t. By the end of your time with her, you’ve already had one of what she called a “panic attack” - a term she apparently picked up while doing research on Midgard - but you managed to get through it with her guidance. She’s also given you some suggestions for when you have flashbacks.

“I know I said I want you to work through things on your own,” she says, taking your now empty mug from you and returning it to the tea tray along with her own. “But I recommend you find someone to support you through panic attacks and flashbacks. It seems the King himself is a safe person for you but I’m not sure how often he can be around. I would like to speak with Lord Tyr and Thor again, give them some guidance on how to help you through these things. Is that all right?”

You nod, hugging yourself.

She pats your shoulder. “I’ll send them in once I’m done. I will see you next week.”

It’s strange and a little frightening, being alone in the room. You rub your hands against your upper arms, trying to drive the sudden chill from your body.

“Thor,” you manage, eyes darting around the room. The window is covered by a heavy curtain and your mind races, your heart following suit. You didn’t hear it open but could someone have…? “Thor!”

The door flies open and suddenly Thor is by your side, huge hands cradling your face and forcing your eyes to focus on his. Your breathing is ragged, coming short and quick.

“I’m here,” he says, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Deep breathes, Y/N. Deep breathes. Like me.”

He takes slow, deep breaths and you focus on that, doing your best to match your breathing to his as you curl your hands around his wrists. Gradually, your heart rate slows and you feel yourself relaxing.”

“‘M sorry,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I don’t know what happened. I was just… alone.”

You glance over Thor’s shoulder to see your father in the doorway, and suddenly feel self-conscious. You don’t want him to see you this way.

Thor seems to sense your discomfort and he glances over his shoulder to see Tyr. “Please give her a moment,” he requests. “I will fetch you when she’s feeling better.”

Tyr tenses, instinctively going on the defensive. “I’m her father. I should be here for here.”

You duck your head down, shaking it a little. Your father must see because he murmurs “Nevermind, I’ll go” and then you hear the door latch.

“He’s gone,” Thor tells you, gently lifting your chin. “You were alone and it frightening you?”

You make an affirming noise, relaxing under his attention. For some reason, every fiber of your being finds comfort in Thor’s presence, and you remember what Verdandi said about him being a “safe person”. That sounds like the right label for whatever Thor is to you. His warm hands lift you up so he can sit behind you on the couch, your body resting against his chest, and you happily snuggle in close, allowing his proximity to draw any remaining tension from your body. 

“Better?” he asks, voice a low rumble in his chest.

“Better,” you echo. You’re still hurting, mourning the loss of Bjorn and your old home, and you know you have a long way to go but right now, in Thor’s arms? ‘Better’ isn’t too far off.

You settle into Thor’s embrace, letting the warm strength of his body and the steady beat of his heart lull you into that state between being awake and asleep. Eventually your father comes in. He and Thor begin speaking over you, keeping their voices low so they don’t bother you. You drift in and out, catching only bits and pieces of the conversation. You’re only really pulled back to attention when you hear your father say your name.

“Thank you for taking care of Y/N,” your father is saying. “I am… unsure how to handle all of this, especially since she doesn’t seem comfortable with me knowing anything about what she’s gone through.”

You open your eyes a sliver to see Thor looking down at you with a soft expression. One huge hand curls around your head, thumb rubbing back and forth, before he resettles it on your upper arm.

“She is… something else,” Thor murmurs. “I’m surprised by how comfortable she is with me.”

“Verdandi did call you her safe person,” Tyr reminds him. “Y/N is already relying on you a great deal. As her father, I need to know - is this temporary? Or will you be here for her, no matter what?”

You stay quiet, curious to hear what Thor’s response will by.

“I know warriors who’ve gone through much less than she has and not recovered,” Thor says slowly, “and yet this _lítit álpt_… she’s is incredible. Perhaps it’s her strength that draws me in. Perhaps it’s something else. I’m not sure. All I know is that I need to be here to help her heal, however long that will take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(s):
> 
> \- little swan (f) - lítit álpt


	7. Chapter Six

_The chanting is low and otherworldly in the dark night. Your naked body is covered in goosebumps. The ropes binding you spread eagle between the trees are rough against the healing sores on your wrists and ankles. The torches each of your captors hold glow an ugly green color, blindingly bright in the darkness. You flinch away from the light, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face to the side._

_One of them, a young man with his face partly shadowed by his hood, steps forward with a bowl of some kind of liquid - you don’t know what it is and you probably don’t want to. He dips two fingers into the liquid and begins drawing on your body, staring in the center of your chest and working outward until unfamiliar symbols cover your body at regular intervals. You squint at them, squirming when the drying liquid makes your skin itch._

_The chanting is building and the man returns to the circle of shadowy figures that surround you. The torches flare and you close your eyes again, pulling at the ropes despite the way it chafes. You do your best to pull your thoughts away from what’s going on around you, searching for that safe, happy place within yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve been home in real life, though, that the memories began to fade a long time ago._

_When the chanting reaches a peak, pain rips through your body. Fiery, indescribable pain that starts in the symbols on your skin but works deeper. It feels like the symbols are being seared into your bones and a blood-curdling scream is pulled from your throat. Tears leak from your eyes, salty when they reach your open lips. You twist helplessly in your bonds, every inch of you fighting for freedom-_

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snap open as you inhale sharply, hands flailing in the dim light of the room. There, hovering above you with those beautiful eyes, wide and worried, is Thor.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Just a dream.”

A soft sob breaks free and Thor quickly bundles you into his arms, a stream of soothing words filling the air. You cling to him, letting the fear that still lingers spill down your cheeks. He rubs your back and rocks you gently.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur when the tears finally stop.

“You don’t need to apologize, _lítit álpt_,” Thor replies, kissing the top of your head. “You haven’t had one that bad in a while.”

You nod, resting your cheek against his chest and gazing across the room at the soft glow of the dying fire in the hearth. They finished the palace about a month before your wedding and the whole place still has that new home feeling. It’s smaller than the older palace, at Thor’s insistence, and there’s significantly less gold but you love it. The craftsmen put a lot of work into making a home fit for a king and they succeeded. Just the hearth alone is beautiful, intricate designs carved into the dark wood. A painting of Thor’s family - Odin, Frigga, himself, and Loki - hangs above it. You’ve found Thor gazing longingly at it many a time. You know how he feels.

It’s still a little disconcerting, being in the King’s quarters, even though this bed has also been yours for months. You have your own quarters but you’ve never used them for anything but dressing. You even bathe in Thor’s quarters most days. He doesn’t mind - he reminds you on a regular basis that what's his is yours and he likes having you here. You remind him that even though it's been three years since that first night in his tent, you still can't reach your back and would appreciate his help. Thor's help is usually accompanied by kisses, playful water fights, and something more if you can get him out of enough clothes. He doesn't mind.

You close your eyes, seeing the ghost of the fire against the inside of your eyelids, and relax into Thor’s hands rubbing soothingly over your arms and back. 

“Do you know what prompted it?” Thor asks, shifting to lean against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. Once you’re settled against him once more, he tugs the blankets up to cover you both and brushes your hair off your forehead.

“No. I don’t think it was anything in particular. It was the green one again. That one's always random.”

Thor nuzzles the top of your head, sighing softly. “All right. Will you be able to sleep again?”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

Thor’s fingers are running gently through your hair, sending pleasing shivers through your scalp and helping you relax more. Your hair is getting long now, you notice in an attempt to think about something other than your dream. You had decided to let it grow but lately you’ve been missing the ease of a shaved head and might just cut it all off again - Thor has even offered to do it for you. While it was traumatizing when the dark magicians first did it, Verdandi and you both agree that cutting it on your own terms might actually be healing.

“Do your best for me,” Thor is saying, scratching his nails lightly across your scalp and smiling at your pleased shiver. “Please?”

Just then, a sleepy cry can be heard from the adjoining nursery. Thor groans dramatically, looking proud of himself when you can’t help but giggle at his theatrics.

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses you softly. “Stay here.”

“Not going anywhere,” you say, more to yourself than to anyone else as you watch your husband cross the room.

He disappears into the nursery and you hear the low rumble of his voice, muffled until he returns. Your daughter looks minuscule in his arms. She’s still fussing, squirming against his chest and kicking at the blanket wrapped loosely around her.

“Shh, _elska_,” he says, bouncing her as he walks. “_Móðir _is right here. See? There she is.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and turns her so she can see you. She’s not looking, little face still scrunched up as she musters a fresh wail. You smile, warmed from the inside out at the sight of your husband doing his best to soothe your newborn’s cries. He doesn’t have the equipment to give her what she needs, though, and he sighs when he realizes there’s nothing he himself can do to please her at the moment.

“She’s just hungry. Come here, Frigga.” You reach for your baby and Thor hands her over. Frigga settles a bit once she’s in your arms, calming completely once you remove your nightshirt to present her with a nipple to nurse at. You used to be uncomfortable with even the idea of this, let alone doing it in front of Thor but now you love feeding Frigga. The gentle warmth of your daughter’s small body against your breast, the sweet smell of baby and milk, and the expression of pure joy Thor wears when he watches you are always enough to soothe your anxieties.

“I love you,” Thor murmurs, reaching out to brush his fingertips over Frigga’s soft blonde curls and then your cheek. His eyes are tender, that same blue that rescued you from the dark of a wagon - it feels like it’s been so much longer than a couple of years. “My beautiful girls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(s):
> 
> \- mother (f) - móðir


End file.
